What We Were
by RandomReader01
Summary: "I thought we would have a future together, despite how outrageous it sounds like...Actually, I still believe we do." USUK
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Heya! I know I'm an awful author, neglecting my other fics while starting a new one before finishing any one of them...I hate myself. But I really can't help it, I just...you know, when ideas just come to you and you couldn't stop yourself from putting them down on paper. I hope this time I can properly end this one - This, one special fic that keeps pulling me back even when I was busy and shouldn't be thinking about it.** **Please bear with me. I have drafted the whole storyline and half of them are currently in the writing progress.**

 **I know this AN is long, and you can ignore the previous part. But this one is important. The mark "-*scene break*-" is actually a double space bar to another paragraph. I tried making the effect of a wider space between intended paragraphs but I just can't. The downside of FF . Net I guess...Anyway, just pretend that it's invisible or doesn't exist at all. I'll appreciate it if you understand what I mean. Or, I can try to explain harder if you ask ;)**

 **Btw, this is rated M just for future safety.**

 **Disclaimer: I love Hetalia but I don't own it. All rights go to their respective owners. The characters belong to Himaruya Hidekazu, the plot belongs to me.**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

Prologue:

* * *

We tumble. We always do. Everything around us does, too. Like falling hard without feeling gravity. It feels empty and endless. And helpless. And alone.

But it's not always so despairing. Sometimes, I would look forward to the next settle down (which I always do) and wait for my fate. It's always the same. Never-ending. Though sometimes, I hate it because we're given too short a time to get along – although we _have_ been given a lifetime to know each other, and it's my personal pride when someone ask how'd I know what is what when it comes to him. They wouldn't believe me if I explain to them; they wouldn't understand.

Anyway, I am falling again. I know I'll eventually see a light soon so I'm not even a tad bit worried. The only thing that worries me is him. I wonder how he is doing right now. Besides knowing his habits, his quirks, his interests and his own, personal being, I've never known how he's doing on the other side. I know he's tumbling too. We all do. That's why we get to meet every single time after this. We're like bees attracted to flowers. Or the Moon attracted to the Earth.

-*scene break*-

I see something now. It is a faint shimmer of grey in the horizon – by the way, it's total pitch black here. It's utterly dark that you couldn't even tell which way is up or down.

Not that it makes any difference at all though.

The tiny tinge of gray line grows wider and bigger, like a slit slowly tearing apart. Or a light opening up to swallow you down. Either way it's never anything comforting to see, but I think it may also be due to my overly-active imagination. I am those easily triggered type; anything can always make me relate one to another.

The light keeps growing. It looks more like a fluorescent light now only it's upside down. It sounds weird, but just imagine floors with lights, and that's just it. And now, since I'm descending faster, the light grows into what feels like a bright white sun which is very blinding. And very hot.

Like, _very_.

-*scene break*-

Okay, if you'll excuse me now 'cause I don't think I can manage much longer; I feel like I'm scorched. It's burning like hell! (I hope it's _literally_ metaphorical.)

Sorry guys, I guess I'll tell you what happens as soon as this thing ends.

As soon as I make sense of what's happening around me and remember what and who I am. Of whom I was.

* * *

 **Continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm an idiot. I know neither real life jobs nor a publishing company works. I don't even know how they look like.**

 **Please forgive my errors.**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu. My story and plot belongs to me.**

* * *

Chapter one:

* * *

 **Arthur**

I fumble through my clothes as I reason myself not to fume. It's so hard not to since I'm a very short-tempered person. And I'm running out of time!

"Lyanna! Where are my socks?!" I bet my voice reaches the neighbour's walls.

A few objects banging later, Lyanna comes through the bedroom door. Her soap-dripping hands perch on either side of her hips.

"I told you it's in the third drawer! Have you really looked through them thoroughly!" I can tell my annoyance irks her; she often receives the shorter end of my rope. I feel the rise to apologize but I'm in too much of a hurry to properly do it.

"Why did you move my things? I told you not to touch them!" I slam the current drawer shut shoddily. "I have certain ways to keep things." I try not to sound too agitated while I bend down to the third drawer, pulling on the latch. "You know I can be quite forgetful sometimes."

 _"Most of the times,"_ I hear a mutter from behind me.

The socks are all there, folded and tucked organizedly in rows. I take out a pair. Lyanna huffs loudly and leaves me to my ongoing - She must be heading back to the kitchen where the dishes waited, soaked in foams.

I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for myself.

As soon as my socks are on, I grab my office bag and hurry to the foyer where my shoes and Lyanna's are stacked on, neatly and orderly: the left section of the rack is mine while the right is hers. _What can I say, women are always right, right?_ I've joked at one time, and Lyanna huffed with a big smile on her face. Nowadays, she is mostly cold and indifferent to my jokes. She used to think they're the funniest things in the world. But I guess I'm just losing my touch.

Anyway, after securing my shoelaces, I gather everything up – which is my bag and coat respectively – and took the door handle. I pat the left pocket of my suit to check my keys.

Yep, they're there.

"See you later, Lyan," I say before stepping out of our flat. It's early autumn now and the weather is picking up. The sky is grey from the over cloud and a soft cooling breeze kisses my cheeks.

I find this kind of weather suits me; they bring a flutter in my stomach. Like a wish of good luck from Mother Nature, or a foretelling of something.

Either way, I have to get going, I'm terribly late!

* * *

Despite all of my effort to stay optimistic, I feel like a failure, a disappointment. I could see it through my colleagues' and boss's eyes even though they tried their best to comfort me. They can never lie by looking sympathetic; their eyes are too loud for that. I stare into my tea, the brown liquid staring back at me.

If only I haven't been late and get well-prepared before the meeting, I might make a better presentation. I might not stutter and forgot my planned speech and lose compose and flail and make a fool out of myself. I feel so embarrassed right now!

"Heya Arthur," a familiar voice approaches me from behind. I turn around to see Kiku, a Japanese girl in her third year of internship.

"Hi, Kiku," my eyes fall back to the tea in my hand. I try not to sound crestfallen though I have already disappointed myself with that. Kiku is quiet, she merely smiles at me once I glance up at her to see what she's thinking. I never managed, however.

Kiku is generally a shy introvert who sees things others don't or deliberately avoid. It's like she has special built-in radar for sensing troubles or issues, and as an introvert, she just watches from a side and keeps them to herself. It makes her sort of a creeper, but her information are useful at times. She has the typical Japanese vertical-hairstyle, and her eyes – like most of the Asians, disguises themselves in a shade of brown so dark that I mistook it as black when we first met. Kiku is smiling at me with her proficient creeper smile like she knows something that I don't - which I think I really don't if I never ask.

"What?" I look at her curiously. She shrugs and smiles some more.

"Nothing. Just…don't push yourself too much. Don't over think. You're a very excellent worker, Arthur, don't let one mistake upsets you," Kiku moves her way to my side and begins making herself tea. The kinds that she brought along from her home country.

I cast down again. "I don't know. I feel like I can do better. Everyone has expected me so."

Kiku turns around and leans against the counter top. "But you're not perfect. You can never satisfy everyone's expectations," she sips her tea thoughtfully. Every now and then I would wonder if she really is 23. Her intelligence speaks so much more.

I shake my head.

"I'll try." I turn to her. I hope what I gave her is not a sheepish smile because I do feel better now and I want to show her that I'm grateful to her words.

She smiles back at me with her depth-withholding eyes I have yet to reach. Straightening up, I finish my tea.

And blanch at the taste. It has turned cold, as usual.

* * *

I step out of the kitchen after washing my cup, rubbing away some lingering drops of water on my trousers. I am supposed to head back to my office corner to continue the work of the day, but as you can see, the commotion near the entrance ultimately caught my attention. Instead, I have let my feet reign over before my brain gets a chance to decide.

I wouldn't say I have noticed the number of women working here is much larger than the men, but the ones surrounding the entrance could about sum it up. I have to push through the chattering women to find myself standing face to face to a man - A young blond man.

I consciously swallow the spit in my throat.

Like something new in a wardrobe, he shines dazzlingly in his (possibly) new light blue shirt with a darker blazer on top to compliment his seemingly sturdy physique. It matches his eyes, which oddly reminds me of a soft-singing creek – which I don't even _remember_ seeing it in my whole life.

His entire existence screams attention. And undoubtedly, with his appearance doing ten folds the effort than it should, everyone's eyes are on him. But there's something bugging me, in fact.

As you can see, he is obviously young. Might as well be a bit too young to look like an experienced, working business man in my opinion. So perhaps it is the intelligence he wears in his eyes that stares out stealthily through a thin metal frame perched on the bridge of his nose; or his slight chubbiness that keeps giving me mixed judgment on his age. _Or_ the way his brows move up and his irises glisten in apprehension of my scrutiny. I pretend to look away but realized that it's too late. My gaze is drawn to a rather stern-faced Mr. Williams.

Simultaneously, we both seem fit to clear our throats just in the same time, albeit for two _very_ different reasons.

"Kirkland? Earth to Mr. Kirkland." says Mr. Williams in his usual quiet, patronizing voice. With a distinct sharp edge in it.

Obviously, I would have been more composed if I didn't stare too hard at the boy and unintentionally tuned out my boss's several addresses. Thus unfortunately, I am met with him standing right beside the blond, his arms akimbo and tempers crossed. I nervously crossed my heart too, inwardly praying myself out of trouble.

"You were saying?" I sort of stuttered.

The blond beside him raises his eyebrows further up. Mr. Williams himself isn't the slightest bit amused, however. Shaking his head, he says gravely with a little addition of worried disapproval.

"Mr. Kirkland, I expect you to be more alert and aware since this morning's event. I pray you are not losing your touch now after having been working so hard over this current position?"

I shake my head quickly and a little fearfully. Mr. Williams may seem like a harmless, gentle dove, but if he wants, even a dove can drives away an unarmed man.

I sigh, earnestly concerned. "I'm sorry, Mr. Williams. Please, what is it that you were saying?"

That eases Mr. Williams out of the unsuitable frown he was developing, followed by a small smile that is mostly accustomed to all of us, his employees.

"Finally. Now back to our previous topic, this is our new intern standing for an editor's job. He had noted specifically to be under _your_ " – he nods at me – "supervisal, which I really don't know what is on with the two of you."

He scrutinizes us up and down. "Have you two met somewhere before?"

I am easily ready with a denial on the tip of my tongue; though after a short glance over to the man, he seems to hold an alternative answer. An unknown sense of dread creeps up the back of my neck.

Before realizing, I respond quickly without giving the poor man a chance. It sounds oddly choked.

"I don't think so, sir. If I do, I would recognize him."

The man's shoulders somewhat slump a tad bit. Mr. Williams, on the other hand, seemingly neither satisfied nor even care, shrugs and continues.

"So, Jones, this is your senior, Kirkland. Within today, he will be showing you around the premise and explain the details of your post requirement. Naturally, he will be guiding you through your works starting tomorrow," he eyes him suspiciously with a vague hint of wit. "If there's no delay, I honestly hope?"

Jones stands taller, nodding attentively. Mr. Williams beams and brings his palms together. "Right, then. Kirkland, off with your job if you may. If anything more, I hope to see you again tomorrow, Mr. Jones," he flashes a professional smile and holds out his hand. Jones takes it and they shake with genuine pleasure.

"By the way, Jones," Mr. Williams pipes up before sauntering away.

"Try to co-operate with each other and have fun." he adds with a lopsided (but astonishingly proper and polite at the same time) grin while retreating to the front of the watching crowd and turns around. "Welcome to Signal Press!" he gesticulates ceremoniously in his typically calm and meek voice. Then he left, moving with authoritative steps through the gap between parted audiences. The women around us cheer and applaud like we were some newlywed couple.

Or not.

I carry my eyes up to Jones, where he stands cheerfully with both hands plant comfortably in his pants pockets. He grins at me when our eyes locked, and I have to take shade under my eyelashes to keep from getting burnt by that silly, intense glow he keeps emanating. What the hell is it with the stupid amount of passion coming from his eyes?

Luckily, the crowd disperses soon after Mr. Williams' impressive exit, leaving the two of us hanging awkwardly waiting for the other to take the first initiative. With my responsibility senses kicked into action, I walk to him with a hand held out. Mr. Jones shifts and stands straightly. His knees seem indistinctly ready to unbuckle underneath him – which I have absolutely no idea why the image would bring my lips up to my cheeks.

Maintaining a pace width between us, our hands touched. His palm wraps around mine. It feels extremely comfortable and smooth and warm; like the quilt you'd use during Christmas nights. Nostalgic.

And then a silent acknowledgement is shared.

Though it doesn't feel like a life-changing affair, I imagine somewhere deep in the great universe of the unknown, a supernova has erupted.

Surely this must means something, notwithstanding how normal and trivial it seems. Though what exactly is it that persistently persuades me to believe so?

The man before me pulls away and ruffles the back of his hair. A soft smile effortlessly swims its way into his sodalite-colour irises. (I like his eyes; they're the perfect shade of blue.)

* * *

 **I use Kiku's name as Nyo!Japan's because I always prefer her name that than Sakura. And it feels more...real and serious to fit in here. Maybe it's just me though.**

 **Continue?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Edit: Hi! It's been a while. I'm back to edit a few stuff that is cringeworthy...Though some parts are still cringey for me. Especially about how Arthur behaves in here. I feel like he has become slightly OOC under my hands.**

 **I hope it's not a major problem...**

 **Btw, the changes are mostly minor grammar errors throughout the entry, but there's a slight twist at the end. I tweaked it to** **accommodate my next chapter as Chapter 3 is a huge change and I hope it's for the better.**

 **P.s. If you're wondering what happened to Arthur, he has a reason for being like that. It's the plot. It'll soon unravel if you follow up my crazily slow updates [Yeah, shameless hinting x') ]**

 **Anyway, hope you guys enjoy reading. I'll be back more constantly after my huge exam on October. Wish me luck! :)**

 **Please forgive my errors.**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu. My story and plot belongs to forgive my errors.**

* * *

Chapter 2:

* * *

 **Arthur**

"So…Kirkland?" Jones rubs the back of his neck. He was blushing lightly. I eye him oddly from my lower point of view.

Jones turns out to be quite a tall young man than I am – maybe a few inches taller (That bastard). He has a strong jaw line, and his height is making me very self-conscious. But I am not easily intimidated. Jones seems like those who can fall into the "adorkable" category without difficulty.

"Yes?"

"Uhh, so…what do you think of lunch?"

I can't help but stop and squint. Firstly, I admit we have been walking around for a while through the decently huge company, introducing him to a series of rooms and people and whatnots. But if I am terribly conscious of the time, we had only spent about fifteen minutes or so. It is still relatively early for lunch, but perhaps some prefer this particular time. I scan Jones up and down as he stops beside me, his eyes roaming everywhere but on me. Then, there is this question impulsively forms on the tip of my tongue lingers. I find it hard to spit it out, so I tease instead. Casually, of course.

"Well, not that I've ever fussed about it." And I fold my arms and smirk, "But you can be the first to make me."

The blush turns a darker tone. He begins to stammer, and I chuckle playfully as well as to ease him.

"It's okay, I'm just teasing. I haven't shown you our office yet. And you need to catch up quickly for tomorrow."

Jones' tensed shoulders relaxed. He smiles appreciatively at me and I return the gesture. We begin walking again. Side by side, his longer strides falling in rhythm with mine.

Is he doing it on purpose?

Anyway, when we finally reached my – _our_ – office, I open the glass door and welcome him in. I am an organize person and working in a clean environment is absolutely my stipulation. When Jones walks in, I feel the urge to tell him that. I don't know why it occurs to me and why it feels important to do so, but I keep my lips shut since it seems like a random and rude thing to say.

It's not like I don't trust him to keep my office clean and tidy, it's just…a gut feeling.

Jones stands aside awkwardly when I close the door. He looks around warily as I observe him from side-glance. The room is a generous space enough to fit in a bookshelf filled with bound papers and documents; a large expensive desk with chairs on both side; and a small cupboard in the corner of the room. The table sits in the center while the bookshelf eats up the entire wall of my side of the room. I move to a chair and motion him close.

"So this is your seat," –I indicate with my head – "while I'll sit across you. We'll be doing a lot of reading first and once we have decided our selections, we can finally proceed to editing. It may start off as rather tedious, but it is an important step since we have to make sure the books are in quality for the right amount of profit." I pause and frown at myself. Sometimes, even I have to cringe at my own choice of words, because even as an editor for years, I still couldn't get over the idea of the picking process. It feels rather unfair for the writers who spilt their hearts and time out for this one piece of work as we pick and compare among them for the worthiness of publishing.

Jones casts a worried glance at me. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head and walk to the other side of the room.

"This is the bookshelves, as you can see, of course…" I am babbling. Jones shrugs and I sigh before straightening up to continue.

"The selected ones will eventually earn a place on these shelves. Some of these are still in the process of my editing while the others are on waiting cue." I turn to Jones and say, "But since you're here now, your job is to assist me in these piles of work. Come over and have a look."

Jones grins and eagerly crosses the room. He stops just beside me and commence to flipping through the stapled papers. It seems like he understands what he is expecting; I grin to myself and scan through the papers. Then I found one I'm currently working on and pull it out.

"Here. I just started on this days ago and the author possesses an interesting writing style I seldom seen from others." I hold it out to him as he hesitantly puts down the one he was skimming through to grab mine. I watch him as his royal blue orbs glide through the words still somewhat dubiously.

Minutes later, I can tell he has already immersed himself in the pages; his eyes shine with an excitement that mirrored my own when I first came to contact with it. I can't help but feel proud and pleased for the author; it makes work much more exhilarating once in a blue moon. Moreover, the pleasure to witness the birth of a published book when it receives its final touch to attain a shelf life is incredibly satisfying. I always feel so honoured to be the one polishing them.

Next to me, Jones sighs through his nose in content, his breath blows lightly on my left cheek. I can't help but chuckle quietly as it tickles down my chin to my throat, dissipating on the bone of my collar. Despite how oddly it sounds, it reminds me of coffee. I look down at my wrist.

Maybe lunch isn't such a bad idea after all. Or perhaps, a _brunch_. Since the moment seems perfect to bring it up again, I turn around and clap once, startling Jones from his deep focus.

"So, I heard someone mentioned about lunch."

Jones looks at me confusedly. I inwardly roll my eyes and ask, "Where are we going then?"

And then slowly, his face lights up, his grin so wide it occupies the entire face. It makes me wonder whether he is excited for the meal or for going there with me – an impulse tells me it's both. Suddenly, I feel my stomach turn weak. I squeeze my eyes, trying to clear a growing thought away; and found myself musing over that tiny flowing creek.

Great. An irrelevant image in an irrelevant time. Why do I feel so queasy inside when he smiles like that?

Jones reaches a hand out. It feels so distorted and far away.

"Are you okay?" His voice is a banging gong in my head. I shake it and step back, feeling light and woozy in my steps.

Colours swirl around me, everything that claims definite shape fails to convince me as images fly haphazardly around. My vocal chord seems to malfunction altogether too at the same time. A clench in my stomach tells me I am going to gag. Consequently, I double over, my eyes tightly shut and hands clutching a handful of my green cardigan. I could hear Jones's frantic calls and his big, warm hand holding my shoulders while the other caressing my back as to ease me from my pain. I shake my head and lift a shaky hand, weakly pointing to my desk – in which I hope I am. I try taking deep breathes and calm down, but the previous head motion had brought more dizziness. Plus, I can feel the food from breakfast began easing upward to my throat.

My mind begins racing. At one point, Jones hands aren't on me anymore but I couldn't care less. I grab wildly at my table, trying to reach a certain drawer for my emergency supply until – a paper bag is presented before me.

Within minutes, I have snatched it away and pour all my morning contents into it without further restraint. Although I am busy abiding to my physical distress, I could sense a tense, anxious aura radiating from Jones. A belated wave of sympathy washes over me once I am close to finishing; I hope I haven't scared him already in his first trial, albeit also making a nuisance off of myself.

Finally, after being given some napkins to clean myself, I instructed Jones to wait while I dispose of the full paper bag and take a short thorough inspection in the washroom. I return later, finding Jones sitting hunched over in his seat, deep in thought and unaware of my presence.

I clear my throat. "Uhh, pardon me for the trouble minutes ago."

Jones whips around, both hands wrap protectively around me as soon as his feet hit the ground. I blink, posture stiff and still in his arms.

"Err, Mr. Jones – "

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you ill? Why did you throw up? What happened?" His arms tightened around me, breathes tingling on the back of my neck as he spoke. An addition of wetness on my collar doesn't reduce my level of worry and confusion.

"M-Mr Jones…?"I push a little, carefully prying myself away from the overly close and abrupt contact. Jones hesitantly lets go, his eyes red and glistening.

"Wha-whatever happens to you, Mr. Jones?" I stand a pace away, hands involuntarily fiddling on the hem of my cardigan.

"What…whatever happens to me?" Jones sniffs. He gives me a look of pure confusion with leaky eyes. His orbs are like a pool of blue mirroring a calm sea before storm.

"Arthur, are you ill?" He says. "Why did you throw up? Is it a regular thing?" He steps forward, I step back. The edge of the desk bumps into my side.

"W-well," I lean against the counter, "I _am_ diagnosed of a rare disease…But don't worry! It's not contagious." I hold my palms out facing him. Jones gives me a dubious overall scan. I straighten myself.

"Look. It's just a side effect I got from a road accident. It's only been showing minor symptoms. Nothing big. So don't worry, I can still work perfectly fine."

Jones wrinkles his forehead. I don't know why, but he seems more worried and guilty now than being doubtful. Though the keyword here is guilty. Because, why should he be?

"Mr. Jones. Really, it's nothing – "

"Do you think I should leave?"

I jerk upward, my eyes round and wild. "Why would you do so?"

Jones trains his attention on the rug. His lips pursed and tight like a clam.

I consciously bite my lower lip. I am so _tempted_ to demand for an explanation since none of these are his fault; though I suspect he will tell me right away. He looks like he has many things to hide. Honestly, I could, the main constraint is that this situation is getting weirder by the moment and it's unnerving me.

I sigh. "Mr. Jones," I say, "let's forget about this for now."

Jones peeks through his fringes. My breath hitched soundlessly in my throat.

"What do you say?" I exhale slowly, regarding my choice over again – _and_ also ignoring how damn adorable and annoying Jones is right now – before reluctantly saying: "McDonalds?"

A glimmer sparks in his beautiful eyes.

I chance a smile as he hesitantly loosens his shoulders. I can tell he must be wondrously built under that moderately fit shirt; his shoulder blades are trying to peep through his slightly ajar collar.

"If that's fine with you?" He says quietly.

I assure Jones with a more relaxed, genuine smile and a nod. Jones returns it.

He may thinks he has persuaded me with that childlike façade, but I am not one easily fooled. I have mentally noted his queer question, hoping I'll still remember it the next day or the day after - As long as I get the chance to properly prod for an honest answer.

I open the office door, gesturing him to go before me. We walk through the corridor and down the stairs – the company is big enough for a flight of those grand, winding stairs with red carpets; only that this one is more of a faded, reddish-brown rug than a carpet.

Jones keeps his hands in his trouser pockets, looking cool and aloof and humble and friendly all at once. How he does that is beyond my comprehension, though I can tell he is merely pretending. As if he is trying to convince people he doesn't care for petty things and is above everyone else though he just literally cried over my sudden health outburst. I know he is hiding something under his sleeves or behind that zipped up mind and resolute stance.

If he thinks it consoles me, I am as equally disturbed as from my last nightmare. How do you explain when you just know that something is up and you couldn't prove it in black and white? I could argue it's because of the frankness in his eyes, but then people will think differently of me. And they wouldn't take me seriously.

We reach the entrance of the company, walking out into the cobble street. People file through us as we look around, deciding which way to go or just…waiting the other to lead the way.

"Well – "

"Well, " both of us start at the same time. I raise my brows, letting Jones to speak up. He looks back and forth at the moving people then back at me, stammering slightly.

"Uhmm, so…which way?" He smiles, showing rows of white, perfect teeth. I grin and shift my footing, crossing my arms.

"You're not from around here?"

Jones smiles awkwardly, his hand reaching to his neck again with a small sign of pink surfacing to his cheeks. He tends to do that a lot when he gets nervous, like a reflex to calm himself.

"Well, I…I wasn't from around here before. I just came to this town a few years ago."

My eyes widen. I shouldn't be surprised after hearing that. I mean, he does looks American, what with the easygoing accent and handsomely tanned skin – you don't get to be that tan around England, the sun wouldn't allow you anyway. Still, I have a nudging feeling that he is telling half of everything; a mere piece of puzzle from a big picture. The fact that he keeps avoiding direct eye contact while we speak annoys me most. It distracts me from relaying my thoughts precisely after organizing them – I need his attention, but he pays no heed in giving me his.

I look around and clear my throat – and am quickly interrupted by a buzz in my pant pocket. I reach in and fish out my phone. It's Lyanna.

I press on the green button and bring the device to my ear. "Yes, Love? What is it?"

Jones perks up, curiosity and something else burn right through me. He is apparently showing absolute interest in our conversation and is not going to pretend evading it. I raise an eyebrow and turn the other way.

Lyanna is asking for some re-stocking in food supplies. She hoped I can do some grocery whenever I could before going home. Well, I guess I could stop by at the supermarket on my way back...

As I end the call and swerve back to Jones, he visibly jumps in surprise and blushed in embarrassment.

"Is that…"

"My wife," I say without delay. Somehow, I fail to capture the sincerity in it, as if it is more of a habitual answer than stating what the term truly means. I try to tap into it by adding elaboration.

"Lyanna and I have been married for six years," I gaze at Jones without really seeing him. "But we already knew each other since high school. We're like best friends and rivals; there's nothing we wouldn't share about and we shared at least one similar subject in class. We fought fiercely – and peacefully – for the same goal in these subjects, though in the end, none of us took the first place as we wanted."

I chuckle, feeling the nostalgias flashing before my eyes. "But it turned out all good. Lyanna was sweet to accept me years later after graduation. She is a woman of her own, and I hope she's happy staying with me."

Jones looks impressed. There's something indescribable suspended uncertainly on his features – He turns away, leaning to his toes then lands back to his heels. "You sound happy."

I ponder over it. And decide it as a compliment.

"Thanks," I say. Jones doesn't look back. I glance at my feet before standing up next to him.

"Thanks," I say again. Jones' smile is a hundred yard away. It appears more of a grimace from my point of view, though I bash the notion away.

"So," I elongated the word. Jones' attention remains at the distant. "If you're looking for McDonalds, it's on the other way."

Jones smirks down at me, the twinkle behind those glasses disconcerts my intestines – again. I smirk back at him, fighting the knots and cramps from showing up to my face.

I know it is unjust of me to conclude what I can make out of Jones according to this measly short period of time spent together, but I have to say, Jones is man wrapped in shrouded mystery. And oddly, being around him makes me feel alive and alert, as if my survival instinct has been awaken.

I wonder if –

"Arthur? Let's go. We don't have that much time, right?" He is facing the way I pointed, urging me to lead the way.

I look down at my watch. Well, I hope McDonalds is a good choice, it is a few blocks down the street after all.

"Arthur?"

"Let's go," I walk ahead while he follows closely behind. Jones is a tall guy with a well-built body structure. Normally, anyone standing next to him would feel slightly conscious about themselves. I am too, to be honest. But I realized, it seems there are other feelings mixed within.

Closure. Tranquility. A sense of belonging. …And something that makes even me blush when thinking about it.

I peer at Jones. Without warning, something inside my chest just pounded hardly in a beat. I look away.

There must be something wrong with me. Apart from my amnesiac issues, Jones seems to be my new case of worry. And I don't think I can handle any things more troublesome in my life as what is given on my platter.

 _Jones, what are you doing to me? Why do I feel like I'm alive for the first time when I'm standing beside you like this?_

 _This heart that is beating, it's not mine. Right?_

* * *

 **Edited(10/9/2017)**

 **To be continue x')**


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNINGS: Long rambling(?) ahead. Skip/read on your own interest.**

 **...**

 **A/N: Okay, it's been awhile since my last update, I deeply apologize. After rereading some of my earlier fics, I realized that writing sure is hard. You can read whatever books you like on the market and most of them are wonderfully written. I mean, I just want to say that, writing is much harder than how I think it is. It takes time. A LOT of time, in fact, to perfectly capture the right words and right atmosphere for that certain scene/part...**

 **Anyway, thank you so much for tagging along so far. I would like to thank my lovely, helpful beta Kuroix-senpai for being there checking through my errors and whatnot beforehand. And to you, my dear precious readers, for letting me know that this story isn't dead in the fandom. Your views encourage me, honestly :') I'll be very grateful though if you could point out my mistakes too. Seriously, that's the point for reviews, right?**

 **Btw, here's a few important(?) things I think you need to know. THIS IS A MULTI-AU FIC. I didn't say it in the beginning of the story because I planned this as a surprise. I'm still wondering if I should tell you but to avoid confusion and misunderstandings in the future, I think it's safer to warn you in advance. I will explain in detail when the part comes. And since my beta-senpai had advised me so, I will change the rating to T (for now). There will be mature contents coming soon, don't worry, so for now, they're mostly SFW. (Lol frankly I don't think my "mature contents" can actually be on par to the lemons found in this website either. Perhaps permanently T?) X'D**

 **Okay okay. And now on towards the story :)**

 **P.s. A small warning for OOC-ness, wonky character developments, and VERY SLOW updates.**

 **...**

 **Disclaimer: All Hetalia characters and rights belongs to Himaruya. This story is purely a work of fiction (obviously...)**

* * *

Chapter 3:

* * *

 **Arthur**

I don't know what occurred to me just now. I mean, it felt as if I just realized my heart was definitely beating inside me after all these years. Like, you've been breathing air and you got used to it, but one day you just suddenly noticed that you had been breathing in air all this time.

"Are you done monologing? Is this some sort of editors' side effect?" I look up to see Jones stuffing himself silly as he speaks. His ravenous attack on his food attracts and annoys other customers, which as well, including me.

I lean forward.

"Your table manners can be more atrocious," I say.

Jones wrinkles his nose and displays a smile with a mouthful of bread, patty, lettuce and cheese. And sauce. Around his mouth.

I grimace. "Didn't your parents teach you proper manners?"

Jones glances sideways thoughtfully. The he returns to gobbling down food.

"Nope."

I sigh, pinching my nose bridge.

How could anyone expect a man whose gorgeousness can be on par with Hercules could end up being so…obnoxious. I feel so betrayed.

I sigh, again. "Jones, you seemed to be quite the young one with potentially a bright future ahead of you. Why did you choose to work in such a secluded and hectic place as a publishing company anyway?"

Jones looks up. I see a flicker of fear speeds across his eyes before I could capture and comprehend it. His face smoothens into a pondering expression.

"I wouldn't say I have a 'bright' future ahead of me. Anyhow, I can choose whatever occupation I want, right?" He blinks meaningfully at me.

Well, according to Adam Smith, humans do have the liberty to choose or do whatever they want.

"But as a fellow experienced employee in the working industry, I couldn't bear to see such talented potentials buried within here. You have good looks, and you're loaded with literary intelligence. You could do better than this," I wonder aloud. Honestly, I don't know why I have an oddly high expectation of him.

As expected, however, Jones lifts an eyebrow at me. I suppose it is not my place to presume a person's upcoming according to my first impression of them.

…Yet his charisma compels me to…

"Arthur," his calling pulls me back to attention, "you know you shouldn't have blind hopes for me," he says it like it is a matter of fact. I feel there is more into the surface than he is showing.

"…Why do you think that?" What does he mean?

"Well, I think it's impolite to assume when you don't have a clue to anything."

…That, is said matter-of-factly too.

I reach out to the unwrap burger in front of me while muttering, "Says the one who is apparently so." Apparently, my good impression of him has instantly deteriorated.

We eat our meal in silence. The Big Mac in my mouth tastes bland.

Out of the blue, Jones chuckles. I look up in annoyance.

"I think since it's you we were talking about, it must be a bad habit of yours. You can't help it after all,' he laughs light-heartedly as if he just told a casual joke.

I frown, "You speak as if you've known me for a while…though I don't recon I've met you before."

I wreck my brain, trying to search for any traces of Jones in my memories. Though, currently, there is zero conclusion.

"Jones," I am still trying to remember as I ask, "have we met before?" With how he stated it, he must have known something that I don't.

Subsequently, the formerly-thought imaginary fear resurfaces to his impaling blue eyes and lingers much longer this time. Jones looks as if he is at a loss for words.

"Jones, are you – "

"No I'm fine! It's just – It's –" Jones is clearly trying to come up with something in the midst of his disorientation.

What is Jones hiding?

Abruptly, Jones turns to his watch, "Oh hey! Look at the time! I can't believe we're actually eating over our given break time! I think we should head back!" And he hastily stands up while cleaning up the mess of wrapping paper and sauce on the table.

I never thought someone would actually pull that kind of excuse in real life. I am stunned to speechless.

As Jones hurries up and down – and seems to have really decided to go, I quickly stand up.

"Wait! Jones –"

He stops to look at me. His eyes are filled with fear an anxiety, his whole composure screams uncomfortable.

I look down to the small table between us. My hand, if I wanted so, can easily reach him and grab him, allowing him no choice but to stay.

Yet I choose not to.

I put down the half-eaten burger. "Wait for me, Jones. I'm going to wash my hand at the restroom," I jerk my thumb at its general direction before turning around to walk off. I think Jones sighed in relief as I stalked away.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" I ask half-mindedly as we walk back to the company. The whole journey, as expected, ends up in awkward silence. Well, until my straightforward mouth decided to break the uncomfortable silence between us.

Again, Jones tenses up next to me. He stays silent otherwise.

I let out a heavy sigh, and turn my head to him.

 _He's seriously tall._

"Look, Mr Jones, if there's something you are uncomfortable in telling, you can just say so directly. I'm not into that kind of fetish, okay?" Then I frown, "I'm just," – _I have to look away_ – "curious."

That would be an understatement, if I have to say so frankly. But of course, that is not his concern.

We remain to walk in silence. Honestly, if Jones turns out to be the kind who's awfully shy to speak out their thoughts, I would consider discussing this with Mr Williams. Though I wish it would not come to that.

"Arthur."

Finally, the crab has come out of its shell.

I turn to him, all ears.

Jones shivers briefly in the mid-autumn wind.

"Arthur, I don't know what you're expecting from me, but there is something that is certain that you can't change. No matter how hard you wished it different."

His eyes are the colour of murky water. Not to mention there is a hint of sadness behind the beautiful gleam of blue.

What _is he hiding? I'm so intrigued!_

"…For the record," I willed myself to push back the urge of prying deeper, "I think you're more than meets the eye, Jones." I force a smile at him, "And that sort of increased your charming points."

"I think," I add.

Jones laughs back. The awkward between us seems to evaporate right at the moment. But deep down, I guess we both know each of us have something in mind, and we're not going to open up unless the other takes the first step.

When we reached my office, Mr Williams came looking for Jones and brought him away for most of the afternoon. I was alone, focusing on accomplishing my day's workload. To be honest, I'm still curious, especially on how young Jones seems. He was allowed to work here, a serious and famous publishing company. Even if he is an intern, judging with how Mr Williams acts around him, I believe there is more into it than what they've told us.

But why am I delving into Jones personal affair? Is that my superior complex acting up? Or I'm merely thinking too much…I pinch my the bridge of my nose.

I get a feeling that this is going to form into a habit.

…I need a coffee.

Wait.

Tea is better.

* * *

"Is he troubling you?"

Kiku sits opposite me in the kitchen, both of us are having a short break with our own favourite tea.

She stares into her mug of Oolong tea, the spiraling wisp of heat wafting to the air. I detect an indistinct smile hiding beneath her skin.

I pick up my cup and sip the delicious Earl Grey. "What does he has anything to do with me?"

"You care about him." She is literally smiling – _smirking_ – behind that elaborately-printed DIY mug. I am sure of it.

"As if." I put the cup down, my fingers delicately wounding and touching its finely carved ear.

In this somehow carefree company, the employees can take whatever amounts of time break they desire, as long as they complete their job in each appointed deadline. I, on the other hand, always take my work home with me. I enjoy reading, and I like it when the surrounding is more familiar and much comfortable. I believe most of us here do that, but that is what I personally opted to. After all, everyone has their preferences in finding their own ways of handling things.

I wonder how Jones is going to deal with his given workload today, what with his disappearance with Mr Williams for the entirety of the afternoon.

"Tell me," I look up from my train of thoughts to Kiku, "who is this 'he' are we talking about?"

Kiku's smirk widens. "We aren't talking about anyone."

I frown.

And then slowly grin.

 _She really is weird._

"Kiku – "

"You know, I was an intern too." Kiku says absentmindedly while staring into her tea. I wonder what makes her bring this up all of a sudden.

"I used to mess up a lot of things while on the job, and there were so many things I have to learn at such a short time span."

Her sight is lost in the depths of her memory. I listen without giving any comments while drinking my tea. It's turning cold soon.

"And, well, as an extreme introvert back then, socializing is really hard for me," she smiles at it like it was a distant joke. I wouldn't say she isn't an introvert now, because she still is. It's just that, over time, she has slightly open up and become warmer to nearly everyone in the company.

"Are you listening?" Her sudden question alarms me, and I quickly look up to meet her.

"...Well, I don't think I have any place to interrupt in that." Since we only know each other last year when she was first employed here.

She laughs, her voice resounding like gentle breeze.

"Anyway, seeing Jones turning up here is like seeing my old self. He has a lot to learn while being here." She lifts her mug to her lips, "And I trust you will guide him like a proper, experienced superior you believed you are."

There is that smug face again!

"What do you mean by that? I _am_ experienced, okay?" I have been here longer than most of the staffs. At least.

"Ha, at least he's better than me! I don't have anyone to turn to when I was an intern. All the workers who was friendly to me was busy most of the time and I have to observe closely to understand stuff. I'm glad I was quite the bright one, at least. And it must be my luck at work." She smiles at me, but I can see that she is really glad and proud of her achievements back then. I feel sort of proud for her too.

Then she downs all her tea in one go.

I do the same. And both of us stand up to move over to the sink.

I was rinsing my cup when she said, "I'd love to help Jones if he needs something. Anything is fine."

I turn to her, slightly shock at her abrupt initiative.

"Why so?" He has me, doesn't he? Not that he can't turn to people other than me...

Kiku places her mug at the drier, "I just think that we might be good colleagues. After all..." Her eyes stare into the distant as her words trails into nothing. Her face is awash with a soft glow.

I place my cup in the drier, too.

"He's all yours. You can come visit any time you want."

I walk away.

"By the way, Arthur," Kiku grabs the sleeve of my shirt, holding me in my track.

"Please be kind to Jones, he really admires you."

...

...What is she sprouting all of a sudden?! This is so corny it isn't funny!

"Wh- What are you - " I couldn't do anything but stammer. Heat is rising up to my cheeks, and I can't hear anything but the drumming of my heart.

"Call me when anything happens, okay?" Kiku winks and lets go of my sleeve. She walks out of the kitchen, humming happily to a tune I don't recognize.

I remain in the kitchen, trying very hard to calm myself. I mean, it must be due to Kiku's sappy words that I was shaken from my usual composure.

Furthermore, this sort of precipitation isn't good for my health. I'm starting to feel the fast food from lunch is coming back to my mouth. Before things can get any worse, I swallow back the nausea and have a quick rinse of my inner mouth with water.

 _For now, the crisis is avoided_ , I sigh.

After straightening myself once more, I head back to my office and pick up from where I left. Jones has never return once as the rest of the day quickly fades into dusk. When it is time to call it a day, I clear my side of the table and pack up the drafts that I'm bringing home. I glance to Jones' side of the table. It is piled with drafts and papers.

 _Where has he gone to? Is he really here to work?_

I find that the more I delve into it, the more frustrated I become. Yet it's not that I have any say to it; Mr Williams was the one who called him away.

I frown. Should I be worry instead?

Deciding that this is going to end up in circles, I give up and prepare to leave. Leastwise, he should show up tomorrow, sprightly and awkward as he is.

A buzz in the pant pocket signifies an incoming call. I dig out my phone and realize it's Lyanna.

"Yes, love?" I ask while commencing down the grand staircase. There are a few staffs leaving as well.

"You do remember the grocery I requested this noon, right?" As usual, Lyanna is straightforward in demanding and ordering people around. But I guess the reason I stick up with it is due to the unexpectedly thoughtful and caring side that she seldom show in front of others. Her insistence in taking care of me surprised me as well after the accident happened, especially when I could hardly remember her with my amnesia. Thankfully though, she stayed...

"Yeah. I'll be back soon." I bid her goodbye before hanging up. The streets are already filled with busy pedestrians coming and going, the roads rushed with cabs and cars from either side. I wrap myself tight in the beige overcoat, huffing out a puff of misty mid-autumn air.

Even though the night is still young, the moon hanging far in the distant navy blue sky alights its surrounding. The moon, this hour, this atmosphere...Was that a struck of deja vu?

I shiver.

Let's just go to the supermarket and get this over with, I tell myself as the noises of the background blend into nothingness. I let my thoughts wander, swimming in the sea of subconscious yet unrecognizable reveries.

* * *

 **EDITED(12/9/2017)**

 **A/N: Hey there! So this is the edited chapter 3 :) A lot has changed, and I feel that along with my growing in age, I can finally, truly understand some feelings that are indescribable. I feel that Arthur has finally become a character I originally wanted him to be, with my now improved mental development.**

 **I meant the characters to be deep, especially for Arthur and Alfred. But I couldn't get them right no matter how hard I try back then. Still, there's a lot to learn, and I'm not as good as these popular fanfiction authors out there *coughbutterfishcoughrobinrockscough***

 **Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy what I could offer for now x) Please excuse my grammars and probably awkward sentences.**

* * *

 **To be continue...**


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